


alike

by armario



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Jealousy, Loyalty, M/M, Pining, Trans Characters, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:33:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/armario
Summary: Barrabul thinks Credo worries too much.





	alike

 Liberating the third and final camp had the entire army on a high. Supplies were being wasted on a lavish banquet to celebrate, guards down as they indulged in alcohol and perhaps stronger substances that Credo had no desire to think about.   
 

 He knew he should be as excited as everyone else, let go to join in the victory for once, but there was still so far to go, and one tiny lapse in judgement, easily made in moments like these, could end them all. 

 Barrabul was surrounded by fawning women of the camp who were seeking to profess their gratitude. Credo had his suspicions about how, and it made him grind his teeth, blunting the filed points.

 As many orc women approached him; some huge, others small, many seductive, often sweet or shy. Credo had spent so long with orcs that he didn't find them harsh on the eye or a mockery of human beauty- but he wasn't in the mood tonight. 

 So alone he sat, watching his brethren enjoy the night, keeping half an eye on his leader with a bitter stirring of something hot and jealous in his stomach. 

 It was into the early hours after midnight before most settled into their tents and a comfortable quiet swept over the camp.   
Barrabul, renowned for his ability to hold his liquor, finally made his way over to Credo (dismissing his legion of admirers) and sat himself heavily down at his side.

 "One night," Barrabul sighed. "One night, I ask you to lay your worries aside."

 "I can't," Credo answered regretfully. "There's too much. Things we haven't figured out yet, or things we have to keep in mind. Even now, we're vulnerable." 

 "Nothing could touch us right now," Barrabul announced confidently. He put a huge hand on Credo's shoulder.

 His surety helps morale, Credo thought unhappily, but weakens his defences. 

 "Stop worrying," Barrabul demanded, his grin showing the extent of his enormous, sharpened tusks. "Come back to my tent."

 Credo froze, couldn't help but avert his gaze.   
"I don't think that's wise."

 "And you are so wise, aren't you? Come now, let me make you forget your troubles."

 Credo let out an embarrassingly high-pitched laugh.   
"You're drunk."

 "No."

 "You've enough women to choose from."

 "I don't want a woman," Barrabul replied, with a devious smile like he'd figured out what Credo's problem was.

 "I know what I want, little demon," Barrabul declared. "I know when someone doesn't want me. And," he said slyly, "I think you do."

 Credo stood up, wrenching away from the orc's grasp, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt like a child again, hopeless to explain himself. The thought of revealing any part of himself, to go down in his leader's estimations, to lose respect, made him sick. 

 "I can't," he repeated. "You don't understand."

 Barrabul laughed. It was a deep, rich sound, shaking his chest, it seemed to boom across the camp and Credo feared they'd wake the others and find their leader propositioning his second. 

 Not that they would care. Orcs seemed to have a strange approach to relationships. It was freer, didn't always have to mean anything. But perhaps Credo wanted this to mean something.      

 There was little left to explain his dedication to Barrabul- other than his feelings of admiration steadily beginning to trickle into something more. 

 "Don't laugh," Credo snapped, turning round to face him.

 The orc was taller, bigger in every aspect- muscular where Credo was lithe, towering where he was short. 

 He wouldn't allow himself to be intimidated.

 "It's funny," Barrabul shrugged his massive shoulders. 

 Credo never went shirtless around his companions, though day by day the scars seemed to fade quicker. He religiously took the masculinity elixir Cilar prepared for him, and visited Starley for her illusion magic. Galen was never too far when it came to medical procedures, and he'd taken care to rid himself of any feminine traits he'd picked up in his youth. 

 All of that wasn't enough.

 Somehow, Barrabul had noticed. And he was mocking him for it, which was both devastating and surprising, because Credo had his leader down as someone quite oblivious and uncaring towards those aspects of life. 

 "I-"   
Credo clenched his fists. For the first time in years, he was completely ashamed to find tears springing to his eyes. With one laugh, Barrabul had destroyed his confidence and any hope of a working relationship between them.

 He turned away again to walk away, unsure if he'd manage to do so seemingly unaffected. 

 He was stopped by Barrabul spinning him back around with a terrifyingly strong hand.

 "Please," Credo bit out, disgusted by the tremor in that single word.

 "I didn't mean to upset you," Barrabul rumbled, tilting the tiefling's chin up to look him in the eye.

 "So why did you-"

 "I thought it was funny that you think I didn't understand. I understand perfectly."

 Credo blinked, trying to take that in. Surely Barrabul couldn't actually understand. Was there someone else in the same situation within the Godless ranks that Barrabul knew of? Credo had met quite a few, from all walks of life, but that was because he paid attention. 

 "Come back with me. I will show you," Barrabul said quietly, all the humour gone from his voice. 

 "Show me what?" Credo persisted, daring to hope he meant what he said. 

 Barrabul sighed, his harsh features shifting into a familiar expression: affection mixed with exasperation. Until now, Credo had never thought too deeply on what it meant. 

 "We are alike," the orc established.

 Credo's claws dug into his arm. "Truly?" he hissed, not daring to believe. 

 Barrabul rolled his black, black eyes, bending down the decent way down to press his lips to Credo's: insistent, but careful to avoid teeth and tusk.   
 Politely, he pulled back before the tiefling had chance to process the moment, but the grin on his face signalled nothing but mischief.

 And then, he found himself being effortlessly lifted up into strong arms like a babe, carried away through the camp. 

 "Put me down!" Credo begged, mortified, met only with laughter again. He loved the sound, so meekly settled in Barrabul's grip, turning his head to avoid the embarrassment.

From then on, Credo did not sleep alone. There was always a tiefling-shaped space in Barrabul's bed, whether they were in bedrolls beneath the stars or the beautiful four poster bed in Coppertail Castle.

 Little of his life changed, which suited him well. He could not even tell if Barrabul spoke more softly to him, or encouraged more touch. Everything seemed as normal, and neither Barrabul nor the rest of the army treated Credo differently for what they had seen.

 "Do they know?" Credo asked one night, tracing over the faded pink scars on Barrabul's chest to show what he meant. They blended well with the orc's other impressive battle scars, but Credo knew what to look for, and even after all these weeks he was still in awe.

 "Some of them," Barrabul answered in a sleep-rough voice, dragging Credo closer. "Some of them have known me my whole life."

 "Do they care? I mean, did anyone ever say anything...?"

 "Have you never read the tales of Lamark Marcía and Sunblade?"

 "Of course I have," Credo said, offended. Lamark had been his childhood hero. Born female, as he, but rose to greatness as a male warrior, accompanied by his blade of pure light. Credo's blade was steel, but it was enchanted with a self-whetting spell, so it never went blunt and sharpened itself.

 "I haven't," Barrabul remarked. "I can't read Common. But I was told the stories many times. The Aaldori don't mind people like you and I."

 Credo was quiet. He had never experienced discrimination for his identity, but he always reasoned that was because no one ever discovered it. What if the potential judgement was all in his head? 

 "Do you think any of the others know about me?" he asked quietly. 

 The siege to take over Tryluck had left Credo severely injured. He had sustained multiple stab wounds and several broken ribs after being thrown from the battlements. He still shudders to remember Barrabul's enraged roar and the mass of bodies he left in his wake to reach him. 

 It had required medical attention on the field, so many of the other soldiers would have seen what he looked like underneath. There had been no comments about it so far, and that had been many weeks ago. 

 "Know that you are a brave fighter and most valued tactician?" Barrabul replied, a thumb and forefinger tugging playfully on one of Credo's horns. 

 The tiefling sighed. The two were extremely different people, linked only by attraction and shared experience, but he could see himself by Barrabul's side until his last day. This he would never admit.

 The sun began to spill in through the castle's windows. They could not afford to lie leisurely in bed all day; there were laws to introduce, walls to defend, rebellions to crush, and the rest of the island to conquer. 

 "Today I will confront those travellers," Credo asserted, sitting up and moving to get dressed. 

 "It could not have been any other," Barrabul agreed. 

 Elesia was too powerful to be taken down by just anyone. The five strangers in the city must be a strong force to have taken down the Godless necromancer. 

 "Bring them to me," the orc commanded, "And we will feast on their blood tonight." 

 Credo smothered a laugh. "Of course, your mightiness," he answered dryly, donning his armour and sheathing the enchanted sword Barrabul had gifted to him all that time ago.  
 

 The end of that day was not dissimilar to recent others; curled up beside the fire in Barrabul's quarters, but the rest of it did not go at all how he'd imagined. 

 Elesia's murderers were accepted into their ranks, and given a task that required the utmost sensitivity. 

 Let it never be said that the Godless weren't merciful; though when it came to those opposing Credo, Barrabul had no mercy to spare.  
  


 


End file.
